


LUCKY

by suggcest



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (sort of), Barebacking, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Marathon Sex, Multi, Overstimulation, Semi-Public Sex, jaspar, jaspoli, the coachella mansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suggcest/pseuds/suggcest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time night comes in fat purple streaks above the palm trees, Caspar has fucked Joe four times all through the mansion, captured on Joe's camera in shaky shots of thighs and red feet, his vlogging tour forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LUCKY

**Author's Note:**

> okay FUCK yall im so mad i had to write this myself im so mad this fic didnt exist already im so mad 
> 
> these idiots have millions of subscribers and theres only 100 fics in the jaspar tag??? where my morally bankrupt hoes at???? if you want something done right you gotta do it yourself and all that shit. im so mad
> 
> so this fic is mostly joe getting fucked six ways to sunday but theres also feelings and shit hidden in it because im a sappy bitch. if you enjoy at all please go forth and write more about these dicks for me come on guys

By the time night comes in fat purple streaks above the palm trees, Caspar has fucked Joe four times all through the mansion, captured on Joe's camera in shaky shots of thighs and red feet, his vlogging tour forgotten. Joe gets bent over the table in the foyer, gasping foggy circles into the glass with three of Caspar's lube-slick fingers digging up inside him. Caspar holds Joe up against the kitchen window overlooking the pool and punches in like he's trying to fuck Joe right through it, making stupid sounds into Joe's neck. They fuck in the master bedroom's ensuite bath, water sloshing out all over the floor and Joe staring up at the glow of Caspar's back in the mirrored ceiling. Caspar's shirt gets pulled out of shape by Joe's hands—Joe's snapback keeps getting knocked off. He puts his shorts back on after each time and tells Caspar that he's going to be the one cleaning it up if Joe drips Caspar's come onto carpets worth millions of dollars. Caspar is pink-cheeked and smiling, dopey, and Joe can't look at him for too long.

The fourth time is on one of the padded sofa benches by the poolside, and Joe's arse is hot and stressed, almost numb where Caspar's dick is sliding in. He's on his stomach, exhausted and so, so hard, delirious heat radiating out from Caspar above him and inside him. Caspar's going slower now, and every time he pushes back in it feels like the thick pressure of his cock gets more intense, more all-consuming. Joe feels like his brain has melted out his ears; all he has to do is lie there and take it, his cock drooling onto a cushion that probably costs more than their place back home.

It's like Caspar kept saying, every time he started swaying in towards Joe again; they're so lucky to be here, so fucking lucky.

Caspar groans and sinks more fully onto Joe, hot skin all along Joe's back. He presses his mouth clumsily to Joe's cheek, and Joe's too fucked out to push him off.

"Good?" Caspar says. His voice is always so much deeper when they do this, and Joe shudders, clenching automatically around Caspar's cock.

"Yeah," Joe mumbles.

Caspar kisses his cheek again, almost hitting the corner of Joe's mouth. Joe's whole face feels like it's burning up; he tips away from Caspar's mouth, scrubbing his cheek against the soft velour of the cushion.

"Caspar," he says. He can barely hear his own voice.

"S'it too much?" Caspar asks. He eases his hips back and thrusts back in, his stupidly huge prick pressing right against Joe's prostate. Joe cries out, shivering all over; he loves this, when it hurts and feels good in equal amounts, when it feels like he's going to be fucked right out of his mind and body and just become nothing.

"Joe?"

"Fuck off," Joe gasps. "Please."

He can't keep his eyes open more than half-way, but he can see the pool beyond, spread out wide and blue underneath the slowly darkening sky. Caspar's nailing him nice and steady, a hand held fast at his hip, and Joe's camera is sitting on the other bench, on its side, the lens tipped towards them. Joe had forgotten again to turn his camera off before Caspar yanked his shorts down and climbed on top of him, and it's got a fresh battery in, so he knows it's catching all of this. He usually never watches back the whole footage of this shit when he's editing his vlogs—can't take knowing what his own face looks like when he's got a dick stuffing him full—but he might this time, if only because it looks like there'll be more of Caspar in the shot.

Caspar's losing his rhythm, hips starting to knock fast into Joe's arse, when there's the sound of one of the glass doors sliding open.

"You're fucking out here too?" says Oli, and Joe squeezes his eyes shut, cock blurting out another dribble of slick against the cushions.

"Oli," he says—or thinks he does. Everything's going fuzzy in his head and body, and Oli's seeing him facedown and getting fucked. It's not the first time, but it always feels like it. "Oli, Oli."

There's a hand in his hair, curving around to the side to lift his head up. Joe lets it happen, just like he always does. His eyes slit open; Oli sits down on the sofa and rests Joe's cheek against his thigh. Caspar's thrusts knock Joe forward, his open mouth dragging a damp line on Oli's shorts.

"How many is this then?" Oli asks over Joe's head.

"Four," Caspar chokes out. "Four times, fuck, Joe."

Oli makes a humming sound.

"This place is insane," he says. "Bet the parties the guy who lives here holds are off the hook. Probably tons of girls got fucked right here."

Joe can see it—platinum blonde girl with skin tight dress shoved up over her hips, lying right where he is now and getting fucked good, lights and music and laughter everywhere, sticky scent of beer on her skin. He's fucked girls like that and now he is that girl, slutty and decadent with bruises from thousand dollar furniture. Bruises from Caspar's hands.

Caspar gets loud when he comes, desperate sounding whimpers like he's the one getting fucked. Joe can feel his prick throbbing in him, stuffed root deep; Joe's arse and balls are wet all over from Caspar's come leaking out of him and now Caspar's putting more inside, grinding in deep against him. Joe twists his face into Oli's thigh and bites down hard.

"Jesus, ow," Oli says. "You're like one of those tiny, yappy dogs."

"Our little puppy," Caspar pants. Joe goes hot and squeezes around Caspar's dick, forcing another high-pitched whine out of him.

"You're not going to get pissed about that, Joe?" Oli asks.

"He likes it," Caspar says breathlessly. Joe bites Oli again and doesn't say anything—Caspar's slumped against him, pressing him into the cushions, and between him and Oli, Joe _is_ little, tiny even, crushed and enveloped and so fucking hard about it.

He needs to come so badly. He's come so many times today that his cock feels raw, but he needs to come again anyway. He can feel his eyes going hot with the threat of tears, overwhelmed.

Joe loses Caspar's weight as he pulls out, and something goes panicky in his chest, like he's going to disappear now that he's empty and not being touched.

"Please," he says. "Caspar, Oli, Oli, please."

"We got you, man," Caspar murmurs. "'S okay, 's okay."

It hurts when they sit him down on Oli's dick; he's so sore that he can barely take it, but something in him needs it despite that, or maybe because of it. Joe keeps his eyes closed, his cock bouncing against Oli's stomach as Oli ruts up into him. Caspar tags kisses across the back of Joe's neck, and Joe drops his head forward onto Oli's shoulder, everything gone except for the spots where they're touching him, fucking him. He can hear the wind in the palm trees and the wet sound of Oli's dick sliding into him, covered in Caspar's come.

At some point, Oli lifts him up—pulls Joe up and off his cock like Joe weighs nothing, and spins him around before fumbling his prick back into Joe's hole and letting him sit on it again, his back now to Oli's chest. Joe has a second to feel open air in front of his face before there's two hands on the sides of his ribs and the heat of a body crowding in close in front of him.

"You gonna come in him, Oli?" Caspar says. "He's gotta be so full, fuck."

"Shut up," Oli groans, fingers flexing on Joe's hips.

"Fucking legend, Joe, five times," Caspar says.

His lips land on Joe's forehead, smearing up and down as Oli bounces Joe in his lap. Distantly, Joe thinks about pushing Caspar's face away, because they don't do this, but the thought is like a soap bubble in the back of his head, and Caspar's mouth is wet and warm on his skin. When Caspar kisses him properly, Joe kisses helplessly back; Caspar makes a broken sound into Joe's mouth and Oli swears, shoving up and then stilling, balls crushed against Joe's.

Five loads and Joe is so full, so full that he can almost feel it dripping out even with Oli plugging him up.

Oli likes staying inside after he comes—he slumps back against the sofa and shivers as Joe clenches around him. Caspar goes to his knees and gets his mouth on Joe's swollen prick, swallowing it down fast enough that Joe can't help but make a horrible, desperate sound, bucking up. His cock hasn't been touched in so long and the catch of Caspar's throat around the tip makes him feel like he's going to burst right away. Joe fists his hand in Caspar's hair and digs his heel into Caspar's back, making him take it. Caspar stares up at him, eyes wet, and it should be weird, looking him in the eye while he's got his mouth stretched around Joe's cock, but Joe can't look away. Joe's never seen Caspar suck anyone's dick but his; when he does do it, he's always so fucking hungry for it, sucking at Joe like he's being paid, like he needs it. It's kind of addictive, the look on his face, the feel of his tongue rubbing against the head of Joe's dick, the way he moans when Joe pulls at his hair.

When Joe finally comes, it's like his whole body whites out—Oli holds Joe still as he shakes through it, his hand clenched hard on Caspar's head, Caspar drinking him down eagerly. Joe's face is wet by the time he's through, muscles jumping in his arms and legs, his head empty as a balloon. It's the hardest he's come since the Youtube Boyband, when they passed him around to take turns fucking him, and Alfie called him "Zoe".

The air is still warm, even though it's gone dark outside. There's a couple automatic lights on some of the outside walls, and they wink on one by one, pale yellow light spilling across the ground and the curve of Caspar's back. Even the light looks expensive. Caspar's got his head resting against the inside of Oli's knee, and Joe pets at his cheek lazily.

"Don't touch me," Caspar says, and doesn't move.

Eventually, Oli wants to get up, and Caspar helps Joe clamber off of him, sticky and wobbly. Oli gives them each a weak high five and stumbles back into the house. Joe leans against Caspar, come dribbling sluggishly down his thigh, and grimaces.

"I hate you guys," he says.

"No, you don't," Caspar says softly, and it's weird hearing him sound like that, so Joe doesn't say anything else. He grabs his camera and turns it off.

Caspar doesn't offer to clean him up, just gets him a towel to sit on when they move to a cleaner lounge. They sit side by side and stare out across the pool at the tennis court and the ridiculous buildings that they get to be around for a whole week. Caspar rests his head on Joe's shoulder and scrolls through his phone, and Joe's gaze slowly moves from the spiky tops of palm trees down to Caspar's leg pressing against his.

Move, he thinks.

"We're so fucking lucky, aren't we?" Joe says.

Caspar doesn't look up from his phone. He rolls his face against Joe's arm. "Yeah."

Any remaining light leaches slowly out from the sky, and somewhere along the way, Caspar falls asleep with his head in Joe's lap. Joe thinks about tipping him off onto the ground a thousand times. He thinks about his camera and how much footage he needs to delete off of it, and the vlog he needs to post. He thinks about the ache in his body and Caspar's part in that, Oli's part, his own part.

He feels disgusting, and he needs to move, but Caspar's propped up on his thighs and breathing slow and even, one hand curled up over his chest.

"You're an idiot," Joe tells him. "I've played how many pranks on you and you're just..."

Caspar's an idiot. It's the only answer as to why he would let himself be so vulnerable in front of someone he knows he can't trust. Joe doesn't get him, never has—not when they met, not when they moved in together, not the first time Caspar fucked him months ago, when they were drunk and high off of some sort of personal victory that Joe doesn't even remember. Caspar has a tendency to overshadow other things in Joe's head; he's a weird guy that way.

"This place is insane," Joe says. "And so are you."

He draws a finger along Caspar's cheek, watching him carefully. Something moves in the corner of his eye, and when he looks up, Oli's there in the window across the corner of the pool, staring. Joe freezes, feeling strangely caught out, and they just look at each other for a minute before Oli gives a nod and disappears out of view.

Joe closes his eyes and settles back into the ridiculously comfortable sofa, letting his hand go soft over the edge of Caspar's jaw. In twenty minutes he'll dump Caspar off of him and into the pool, and they'll scream and laugh and fight like brothers before they both separate for the night and Joe goes to shower the come out of his arse alone, but for now, he lets this happen; the two of them curled up at the edge of a mansion, sore, and gross, and so fucking lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> "lucky im in love with my best friend/ lucky to have been where we have been" :)


End file.
